


Falling Backwards

by doctor_jasley



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, M/M, futuristic military au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_jasley/pseuds/doctor_jasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon's parents were never happy with his deadender of a job. When he joined the galactic military they were proud. </p>
<p>Now that he's home, he's not sure if enlisting was a such good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Backwards

**Author's Note:**

> for my free space on my trope_bingo card. If this turns into a series it'll be called Shadows in Half-light(not sure yet if that's going to happen)

The night air is warm. Stars twinkle in the sky. It’s not the same as it is in the city, where the lights and tall buildings obstruct a clear view.

Brendon shoves his left hand in his pocket, and kicks at a strip of trash when he comes across it. The parking lot to his right is devoid of life. No teenagers loitering, out past curfew, at the Stop Mart with their spark boards kicked up against the side of the building.

As the cities get bigger and bigger, the surrounding smaller towns grow emptier and emptier. Brendon remembers when he was fifteen, naive and sure that his future would be bright, sneaking out of his bedroom window so he could meet up with Ryan and Spencer in this very lot.

They were going places.

Only they never did. Reality caught up with them when they finally broke away from their pasts. The city was alluring. Sure, they still played gigs - were still a band - but Ryan peeled away to finish his lit degree, his words wishing for a greater audience than tiny, barroom sets allowed, while Spencer worked his ass off to get his associates license in market statistics so his corporate internship could actually take him places.

Brendon let it all happen around him, never settling on a degree to strive toward. There are all these countless things he knows just enough about to wing his way through an issue, but never more than that.

He bounced from job to job, picking up random skills, trying his best to have a good time.

He _thought_ things were fine. He had a job - it was a deadender, sure, but wasn’t a microwager. He had friends. And a long-term boyfriend who matched his ridiculous and adventurous nature.

That couldn’t change the fact that his parents were never happy with him. All conversations, eventually, would circle back to one central point; how Brendon was a disappointment. Why couldn’t he have a real career, a wife, children?

Dead end jobs didn’t cut it in an age where distant space travel was a common thing. Why did Brendon want to settle? Why was he playing games when he should think about his future?

They never wanted to hear the truth, would talk over his words when he mentioned his boyfriend. His mother would set up blind dates with single women from their church when he’d visit. They’d willfully hide in their denial until it was easier for Brendon to stay silent when it came to relationships.

Nothing was ever good enough. Eventually, he snapped under the pressure, and enlisted. Maybe, that way, he’d be _something_. It was a rash decision his parents smiled about.

Finally, their youngest was attempting to grow up.

If his parents were thrilled, Gabe was not. They fought. And fought. And fought. Gabe couldn’t understand the reasoning behind Brendon joining up to be killed lightyears away from home for a cause he didn’t believe. Brendon was too tired of not knowing what direction to move toward to reign in his anger.

It was easier to deal the death blow to their relationship than ask Gabe to wait for him. Because Gabe was right, at least, about the getting killed thing. That was a very real, very valid, possibility.

Brendon couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ subject Gabe to that kind of torture. It was better if they broke apart. That way, Gabe could move on and Brendon could continue his slow fall to the bottom.

Not that he _knew_ four years ago that that was what he was doing.

Brendon was just hoping enlisting would change things. Which, it did, but not in positive ways, mostly. 

Even in the military, he sticks - stuck - out. They don’t - didn’t - even know what to do with him most days. It’s how he ended up floating from unit to unit. It’s, apparently, fucking hard to settle someone who can pick up random shit breezily and has issues following commands to the _T_.

When his tour came to an end - a few days ago - he didn’t re-enlist. His superior officer wasn’t too broken up about it. The conflict with Torsh was settled and, for their galactic system, things began cycling back to peacetime, slowly but surely.

Which is why he’s here at this fading mile marker of his past.

His transport _was_ stopping closer to the center of town, but Brendon hopped off a stop early. Walking seemed like a better idea than sitting cooped up in a stuffy transport that reminded him, all too well, of a rescue pod slowly malfunctioning into death.

The fresh air helps, some.

His head is a mess tonight, regardless.

He doesn’t have a home of his own. He’s unemployed, again. The only friends he has are few and live nowhere close. He’s back to where he was when he was fifteen, living with his parents, only without the ignorance and naivety to buoy him above the waves of reality, of adulthood.

Brendon’s already expecting the pride tinged with disappointment over not re-enlisting when his parents pull away from hugging him. He’s steeling himself for the conversations about jobs with potential that will surely follow a few mornings from now, while waiting unhappily for the dinner dates his mother will push his way.

At least, now, he knows what to expect. He’s finally touched the bottom of the rocky ocean, and there’s nothing else left to fight for.

_Beep, beep, beep._

Hic comm disc goes off in his jacket pocket. Brendon drops his silver and black synthetic duffel so he can reach for it.

He clicks the receive button before twisting the disc into headset mode.

“Has the great homeward journey concluded, yet?”

Brendon runs his hand across the top of his head after securing the comm disc around his ear, letting the receiver snake down to his jaw. His hair’s still buzzed short. It hasn’t had time to grow out.

It’s another reminder of the present.

He leans down and grasps the handle of his duffel with a firm grip. “Decided to walk the rest of the way. Thirty clip left.”

Frank laughs in his ear. “The ways of the Chromejaw must be resisted at all costs. You’re free, now. Why the fuck are you walking, denswap?”

_Denswap_. A breed of musk sheep known for their dim wits, thick-scented wool, and how easily they could be slaughtered for fresh meat. They’re indigenous to the third moon of Torsh, Calspor. Brendon and Frank spent a week hiding amongst a massive flock when they were split from the rest of their current unit.

Brendon holds his breath for three seconds before exhaling. Slow and steady. Frank doesn’t mean anything by the comment. Well, he does, but not in the same context as Brendon’s memories.

The Calsporian herders use denswap as an expletive for dumbass. And, if there’s one thing Frank excels at, besides fixing comm shit, it’s picking up the derogatory slang words of other cultures.

“The transport was squealing like a Tenga driver with a broken belt shaft. I was expecting Captain Danes to pop up and expect me to tweak the corboration lines on the fly.”

Brendon edges closer to a ditch when a vehicle speeds by. “How’s your mom?”

As distraction techniques go, it’s not a bad one to use. Frank’s close with his mother. Brendon knows a thousand, or more, tiny things about her because of the stories Frank would tell when they needed something to hold onto during the tough times.

“She’s happy to have me around, again. Smacked the back of my head when I cursed at the table. Was like old times.”

Brendon lets himself get lost in Frank’s voice. It keeps him from drowning. Reminds him that he’s not alone. There’s someone else out there who’s just as fucked-up.

It helps more than the fresh air.


End file.
